


The Mourning After

by cynical21



Category: Star Wars - All Media Types, Star Wars Episode I: The Phantom Menace, Star Wars Prequel Trilogy
Genre: Gen, Missing Scene
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-08-18
Updated: 2014-08-18
Packaged: 2018-02-13 16:07:59
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 10,206
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/2156832
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/cynical21/pseuds/cynical21
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Obi-Wan's attempt to deal with the loss of his Master</p>
            </blockquote>





	The Mourning After

**Author's Note:**

> It probably wouldn't have happened this way, but a girl can dream can't she?

THE MOURNING AFTER 

 

The silence was so intense within the hangar that it was almost a presence, and it served extremely well to mask the real presence within it. The Force was restive in the darkness, its energy formless and without direction, its pattern fractured and dispersed by the impact of traumatic events on those ordinarily able to access and influence its power. There was no access now, beyond an awareness of chaos, and no possibility of influence. There was only a bottomless despair, with no means of finding solace or reprieve. 

Obi-Wan Kenobi lay curled in a fetal crouch beneath a sensor panel in the passageway between the hangar proper and the adjacent power station; he actually had no memory of how he had come to this particular place, but he had decided that it didn't make much difference anyway. It was as good as any other place, and better than most in that some vague wisp of his Master's presence might still hover here in the place where he had died. Obi-Wan didn't sense such a presence, but he knew he was, for the moment, insufficiently attuned to the currents of the Force to sense much of anything. 

_This is not appropriate._ His self recriminations had been growing in intensity throughout the dark hours. _You're a Jedi apprentice!_

And he stopped, as he had stopped every time he'd had this thought. A Jedi apprentice - without a Master. Was he then still an Apprentice? He was not a child any longer, despite the fact that he thought he was acting like one at the moment. So what would he do? He was certainly too old to be taken by a new Master, and, truth to tell, he didn't want one. Qui-Gon Jinn had been his Master; there could be no other. 

He wrapped his Jedi cloak around him more firmly. By this time, his mind was almost vacant, as a reaction to the turmoil he had endured earlier. For hours after finding his way to this secluded spot, he had relived the events of the day in a sort of endless mental loop. His senses were bruised and clouded by the constant repetition of brutal images; now he was empty and aching, without even the solace of the too-many tears already shed. 

He had felt the killing blow endured by his beloved Master; had felt the physical and emotional torment, the searing pain, and the momentary disbelief; had felt the surge of confusion and uncertainty; and the blunting of that marvelously keen intellect. But he had managed, somehow, to hold it all together. 

He had felt himself swept up in the dark power of his own rage; had allowed his anger to overwhelm and fuel him in his conflict with the Sith lord; had come perilously close to losing himself in the intoxicating strength of the dark side as his hatred had threatened to consume him. But he had managed, somehow, to hold it all together. 

He had fought to overcome his own fear, to regain his hold on the principles by which he had lived his entire life; to expunge from his heart the corrupt desire for vengeance that sought to dominate his consciousness. He had not completely been able to center himself, or to dispel all the dark temptation, but he had done so well enough to be able to do what he had to do, to defeat the Sith. And he had managed, somehow, to hold it all together. 

He had held his Master in his arms, and listened to his dying words; had felt his own heart tremble and shatter within him as his Master spoke only of the need to train the child, Anakin Skywalker. He had said the things that Qui-Gon had wanted him to say, and he had not said the things that cried out to be said within his own mind. He had pledged to train the boy, but he had not begged his Master not to leave him; he had not mentioned how much he loved the man who was the only father he had ever known, or how much he still needed him, or how afraid he would be of life without him. He had said none of that, offering instead the promises that would ease his Master's mind. And he had managed, somehow, to hold it all together. 

Afterwards - he would never be sure just how much time elapsed as he cried over Qui-Gon's lifeless body - he had fought to regain his composure, and had taken care of all the necessary details. He had seen to the safety of the young queen of Naboo, as required by his Jedi mission; had made sure that young Skywalker was adequately secure and supervised; had assisted Captain Panaka in his efforts to secure the city; had advised the Jedi Council of the course of events; and, finally, privately, had accessed the Force to augment his own strength to carry the body of his Master to the rotunda where it would lie in state until the formal cremation. And he had managed, somehow, to hold it all together. 

He had been strong for Amidala, radiating the legendary Jedi calm that always seemed to foster order and serenity around it; strong for Anakin, drying the child's tears while shedding none of his own, and assuaging the boy's fears with soothing words and gentle Force suggestions; strong for the citizens of Naboo, who still had a wounded quality in their faces, having seen the tranquility of their society vanish amid a frenzy of greed and corruption; strong for the queen's handmaidens, who had fought and struggled so courageously, and yet, ultimately needed someone to remember that, beneath their bravery, they were still only teen-aged girls, with all the frailties and insecurities inherent therein; he had answered their need instinctively, providing the perfect word at the perfect moment to both reassure and acknowledge. He had endured it all, and had managed, somehow, to hold it all together. 

And then - the silence had come. Not in the real world, for Theed and, indeed, all of Naboo, still reverberated with the cacophony of celebration, with shouts of victory and cries of exultation, with triumphal music and concussive fireworks. No, the silence had fallen within his own heart, and had slowly and inexorably grown and deepened until it formed an unbreachable barrier between him and his surroundings. Suddenly, everything that he had managed to hold together had just disintegrated, as sense became nonsense and meaning became gibberish. Sabé, the queen's senior handmaiden, had actually observed its inception, without fully comprehending its meaning. She had seen the light flicker and dim in the young Jedi's sea-change eyes, had felt his spirit withdraw from contact with those around him and had watched him turn away from the crowds that had seemed to gravitate toward his aura of authority and serenity. He had moved away at a pace that started as a slow walk, but abruptly accelerated to a Force-enhanced sprint as he exited the palace. 

And thus had he come to this place. Somehow, even as his mind and spirit spun into total pandemonium, he had managed to erect mental shielding, to conceal himself and his turmoil from outside observers. He had then surrendered completely to the madness raging within him. Any vestige of control he had managed to retain up until that point was swept away in the torrent of his grief. The persona of the brave, stoic Jedi, so integral to his personality, was simply dissolved in the acid of his despair, and what was left was the trembling child within, sobbing helplessly as waves of pain and hopelessness assaulted his spirit. Over and over, endlessly, he relived that agonized moment; again and again, he retraced his own footsteps, condemning his own failure. _It wasn't supposed to happen this way._ He had foreseen it, after all; had known what the day would hold well before the rise of the sun. _Qui-Gon was not the one meant to die today._

"It should have been me." His whisper was ragged, raw with desolation. "Why wasn't it me?" 

Instinctively, he almost reached for the familiar bond in his mind to seek an answer for that question. But he remembered - barely in time - not to touch that link, still torn and bloody from being severed so abruptly. It would be a very long time - years, at least - before that wound would scar sufficiently to be considered healed. In the meantime, the silence continued to deafen him. 

He had thought he had no tears left, but the sudden reminder of the eternal silence of that marvelous conduit, which had sometimes been almost painfully loud and filled with emotion, plunged him once more into such total devastation that he was wracked afresh with soul-wrenching sobs. In fact, so lost was he in his agony that it was several moments before he realized that his shuddering body had been gathered and enfolded by strong young arms. 

"Shh, shh," breathed the new arrival, gentle hand stroking the tears from his face. "You'll make yourself sick like this, my friend. You can't do this alone." 

He tried to push himself away, confused and mortified that his shielding had failed so completely. But his struggle was half-hearted and brief, for, in truth, he didn't want to free himself from the comfort being offered. "You shouldn't be here," he managed, finally, to murmur. "It might not be safe." 

The lovely - if somewhat headstrong - young queen of Naboo smiled at him, her face barely visible in the darkness. "Who would dare to harm me, when I'm under the protection of my favorite Jedi?" 

He pulled himself up into a sitting position, and braced his head against his knees. "Yeah," he replied. "Some protection." 

She settled herself beside him, and laid her arm across his shoulders. "Some protection indeed," she insisted. "In case you've forgotten, the Sith was almost certainly after me. And I don't think anybody else could have beaten him. So, ultimately, you did protect me." 

He didn't look at her. "That's not why I killed him." 

"I know," she whispered, tears spilling from her own eyes, "but that's why you were here." 

Obi-Wan, at last, turned to face her, and saw the gleam of wetness on her face. Gently, he wiped her tears away with the back of his hand. "Too much guilt," he said softly. "None of it should be yours." 

"Um, hmm," she answered. "Because it's all yours. Right?" 

He was silent. 

"Why?" she asked, her voice soft but insistent. "You're beating yourself to death with guilt; that's obvious. But why?" 

"He shouldn't have died today," he sighed. "It shouldn't have been him." 

"Why?" she repeated. 

"I couldn't . . ." 

She waited, barely breathing. 

"I couldn't find the way," he said finally. "I couldn't . . . it was blocked." 

"I don't understand," she murmured. "What was blocked?" 

"Do you know," he said softly, "that, with the Force, I can move almost faster than the eye can see?" 

"I've heard that, though I've never actually seen it." 

He laid his head back against the wall and peered into the darkness above them. "But not today. Today, when I needed that speed more than I've ever needed it before, I didn't have it. I couldn't find it." 

"Why not?" 

"Something was blocking it." 

"The Sith," she breathed, shuddering slightly as she remembered that terrifying visage. 

Obi-Wan was silent. 

"Anakin is looking for you," she said, after a comfortable silence. "I think he's very frightened of what's going to happen next." 

Obi-Wan's eyes narrowed as he clenched his jaw. "He has nothing to be afraid of. I'll see to that." 

She nodded. "I believe you will, but he's still a child, you know. He doesn't yet know you well enough to put his trust in you." 

"Trust always has to be earned," he answered. "I'll go find him." 

"Not just yet," she said, as he started to rise. 

He settled back down and looked at her expectantly. "Yes, your highness?" 

She favored him with a broad smile. "I think we can dispense with the formalities, don't you? Considering that you've saved my life, we've cried together, and you've become extremely, um, shall we say, well acquainted with my favorite handmaiden, who also happens to be my alter-ego." 

He was grateful that the darkness concealed the flush that stained his face. 

"Call me Padmé," she continued. 

He nodded, and, once more, started to get to his feet. 

"You haven't finished here, yet," she said firmly. "What haven't you resolved?" 

He actually managed a grim little chuckle. "I don't think there's any resolution for this." 

But she was adamant. "Think again." 

The darkness well concealed the heat that flared in his eyes, but she heard the simmer of anger in his voice. "You think I can resolve this? I failed my Master, and he died because of it. Because I couldn't do what I've done every day of life. I couldn't access the Force to help me. And he died! How do I resolve that?" 

She faced him squarely. "Answer your own question." 

"I don't." he said sharply. "There is no resolution. Okay? I just - live with it." 

Something dark and wounded moved within him, and Padmé sensed it, without actually seeing. "What else?" she asked firmly. 

"Nothing else," he almost shouted. 

"What else?" she repeated, undeterred. 

" _It should have been me!"_ It was a primal scream that arose from the deepest center of his pain. 

Then, more quietly, near sobbing. "It should have been me. I can't do what he would have done; I can't replace him. I can't do the things he asked me to do. It should have been me." 

She regarded him with infinite compassion. "What else? There's still something you haven't said, isn't there?" 

He covered his face with his hands. "What difference does it make, anyway? Does it matter if it was just that I couldn't reach the Force - or that something pushed me away? Either way, same result. Pushed or not, I should have been able to reach it, to overcome the resistance. I couldn't, and he died." 

She was silent for a moment, then felt a small tremor in her mind; a stray thought that arose from a source she couldn't identify. And, as easily as that, she knew. "Who pushed you, Obi-Wan?" she said gently. 

He actually recoiled, and leapt to his feet, in a parody of a fight or flight response. But, then again, judging from the grimness of his demeanor, maybe it wasn't a parody after all. As he started to move away from her, she jumped up and grabbed his arm, trusting in the inherent gentleness of his nature that he would not react violently. "Who pushed you?" She would not be denied. 

He rubbed his face with his hands, his body language screaming his desire to run away and hide. 

"It wasn't the Sith," she said finally. "You wanted it to be him, but it wasn't. Was it?" 

He crashed to his knees. "No!" The admission was torn from him. 

She followed him down and once more encircled him with her arms, attempting to ease the paroxysms of grief and torment that gripped him. "I didn't want to know it," he gasped finally, "but his Force signature was just too strong to mistake." He was silent for a moment, trying to find the right words. But there were no "right" words to take away the agony, so he just spit it out. "Qui-Gon pushed me back. He blocked my access to the Force, and kept me from clearing the screens." 

She nodded, and stroked his back with gentle hands, offering the only solace available to her. "Do you know why?" 

After a time, he nodded. "Jedi Masters," he sighed, "are sworn to protect their padawans, with their lives." 

Her breath caught in her throat, as she realized the depth of the young Jedi's pain. "He died to protect me," he said. It was the first time he had said it aloud. 

"Oh, Gods," he moaned. "He did it on purpose. He died to protect me." 

She drew back to peer into his eyes, and saw them awash with fresh tears. "Yes," she said softly, "I believe he did. But you've missed the point, I think." 

He shook his head. "What point?" 

She drew his head down to her shoulder. "He didn't do this because of some Jedi oath, or some duty to the knighthood to protect his padawan." 

He said nothing as he fought to regain some vestige of control. 

"He did this," she continued softly, "because his life was worth nothing to him, without you. Obi-Wan, this wasn't a Jedi master, doing his Jedi duty; this was a father, protecting his son." 

There was a beat of silence before he replied. "He blocked our bond," he whispered. "I couldn't understand why he did that." 

"And now?" 

He nodded. "An open link, at the moment of death, can be damaging," he answered. 

"So there was no communication between you?" she asked. 

He was very still. "Just for a moment. As I held him, he opened the link." 

"And?" 

"Just four words. As he reached up to touch my face, I heard him say, _Child of my heart'_. Then he closed it completely." 

"To spare you," she said. 

He nodded. 

"You know," she observed, "I envy you." 

"What? You envy me?" 

She ducked her head so she could look into his eyes. "You've been loved, Obi-Wan. With a love that few people are ever lucky enough to know, a completely unselfish love." 

He smiled gently, then pulled away from her. "But how do I go on from here?" he asked quietly. "How do I leave it behind me?" 

"Unfortunately," she sighed, "life is about that very thing. Leaving things behind, whether we want to or not. But I do have something that might make it easier for you." 

"You've already done that," he replied. 

She shook her head. "I did nothing more than be there for a friend. You've done much more for me. But this particular thing, I didn't do. Captain Panaka gave me this, to pass along to you." She held up a holocube. "Qui-Gon gave it to R2 - to hold." 

He reached out to take the cube, and noted that his hand was trembling. She turned to go, but he put his hand on her shoulder to restrain her. "Please stay," he said softly. 

She was obviously hesitant. "Are you sure?" she asked. "This is probably a very private message." 

He nodded, and took a deep, ragged breath. "I don't know if I can . . ." 

She took the cube back from him and set it atop a sensor console. A touch of a button activated it, as she stepped back and took the young Jedi's arm, inviting him to lean on her strength, should his own prove insufficient. 

The image of Qui-Gon Jinn appeared, his face wreathed in a halo of soft golden light. There was a terrible weariness in the Master's eyes, but his lips curled in a gentle smile. 

Obi-Wan struggled to control his breathing, as Qui-Gon began to speak. 

"My padawan." A pause, and a larger smile. "I wonder if you have any idea how much I treasure the simple privilege of calling you that. I could just as easily say, 'My son', or 'My life', or 'My child'. It all means the same to me. You, my Obi-Wan, have been all that is pure and good and decent in my life, all that is worth preserving; all that I would leave as my legacy. 

"I know you are grieving now, Padawan, and, knowing you, I also know that you are blaming yourself. So hear me now; you must understand this, above all. You are guilty of nothing. This choice was mine, and I made it gladly, joyfully. Did you think that I could accept the gift of your life, as the price of my own?" 

Obi-Wan was visibly startled. 

"Oh, yes, Young One. I knew your intentions. One day, very soon, you will surpass any powers and abilities I have ever had, but, for the moment, I am still the Master, and I couldn't allow your sacrifice. Without you, my life would have been barren and empty. Not worth living, Obi-Wan. I could not endure that. 

"My personal feelings alone would have been sufficient cause to prevent you from throwing your life away, but there is more. You have a destiny to fulfill, my padawan. A greater destiny than any I might have achieved. I don't pretend to understand it, or even to see it, but I do believe it, and so must you. Life will not be easy for you, Young One, but you will taste the sweet promise of victory as you begin your own journey to become one with the Force. 

"I wish that I could spare you much of what awaits you, or better prepare you to face it. But we must both now hope that what you have learned will be enough to sustain you. I have complete faith in you, Obi-Wan. You have strength that you have not yet begun to use or understand. You will endure what you must." 

"But know this. The dampening of our bond was necessary to lessen the risk of harming you, so I could not reach out to say these things to you in my last moments. Whatever my final words may have been, these were the ones in my heart. You are my beloved child. You have brought joy and contentment to one who knew only bitterness and longing before you. You have healed my soul, Obi-Wan, with the sweetness of your smile and the purity of your spirit. You restored my ability to taste and enjoy the richness of life. You will never be truly alone, for I will be with you always. 

"Weep for me if you must, but know that I am content and at peace, and would joyfully give my life a thousand times over to save yours. I love you, Child of my heart, and you are beloved of the Force, as well. Both of us will be with you through all the days of your life, and, when the time comes, I will be here waiting, arms open to enfold you, once more. 

"Farewell, my padawan." 

He smiled with infinite tenderness, and was gone. 

And, at that point, it was debatable whether it was the Jedi or the queen who was more affected by the message. They clung to each other, providing stability as the world wavered around them under the onslaught of emotion that tore at them. 

It was some time before they managed to reign in their emotions and allow a new, easier silence to fall. 

Finally, sniffling still, Padmé pulled back and studied Obi-Wan's face. "By the gods," she whispered, "how do you deal with something like that?" 

He sighed. "You just stand still, and let it hurt. Sometimes that's all anybody can do. Trying to run from it only makes it worse." 

She heard something odd in his tone. "It almost adds to the burden, doesn't it?" 

He closed his eyes, and rubbed at them with his knuckles. "It pretty much guarantees that I'll never break my promises to him. That's for sure." 

A gleam of knowing amusement flared in her eyes. "Motivation 101, as taught at the Master's knee?" 

He favored her with a rueful smile. "He was always really good at multi-tasking. Every lesson was point/counterpoint." 

"So his message reinforces his belief in you, and. . . ." 

"Makes sure I'll continue to deserve it." He almost chuckled. "It's very . . . Qui-Gon." 

She studied his face in the dim light. "Do you feel at all manipulated?" 

"Of course," he answered, "but it's just an extension of the patterns of a lifetime. Everything has always been a lesson. I don't expect it to be any different now." 

Very gently, he picked up the holocube and placed it in the pocket of his robe. He allowed himself one more small sigh, then straightened to his full height, and assumed the Jedi mask of calm which he so often wore. "What are you really doing here?" he asked. "Isn't there a celebration in progress somewhere that you should be attending?" 

She just shrugged. "The celebration is long past needing my participation, and I thought it more important to offer my gratitude to a friend, along with what little comfort I could give. Directly or indirectly, the Jedi provided the means for saving my world. What kind of queen would I be if I failed to acknowledge that and say thank you?" 

"So this was in the nature of an official function?" he asked, with a slightly lopsided smile. 

She cupped his face with a gentle hand. "I don't usually hug my fellow participants in official functions." 

"Well, whatever your reasons, I appreciate your efforts. And, by the way, you're welcome." 

"Blast," she swore softly, reaching out to tuck his robe around him more securely as she noticed that he was shivering, "now I've done it." 

"Done what?" 

"Crossed the line, of course. From acquaintances to friends." 

"And that's not a good thing?" He was obviously puzzled. 

"It's terrible," she replied, with just the barest hint of amusement in her tone. 

"Why?" 

"Because," she said with a theatrical sigh, "this means that I can no longer join the legions of nubile young women who spend all their time lusting after the luscious young Jedi with the sea-change eyes. I won't ever again be able to look at you as just another piece of eye candy." 

This time, the flush rose from his toes to the roots of his hair. It wasn't that he was unfamiliar with the effect he frequently had on the opposite sex; it had been happening, after all, since his first awkward brush with puberty. But to have such remarks proffered by the queen of a sovereign world was beyond the scope of his experience, and he had no idea how to respond. 

Until, that is, Padmé giggled softly. "You should see your face. Even in the dark, you're so rose red, you're almost glowing." 

"Very funny," he muttered. 

Again, she caressed his cheek. "Better get used to it, Jedi. Any man as pretty as you are is just going to have to live with it." 

"Please," he groaned, "don't call me pretty." 

She grinned. "Okay, sorry. But just because I conform to your wishes and refrain from calling you pretty, doesn't change the reality. This is something you're always going to have to deal with. Although you may have gone a long way toward resolving that problem today. From now on, you'll be Obi-Wan Kenobi, Sith killer. So the fact that you're so pre-um, good looking may not come up at all, in that context." 

He drew another deep breath. "Is that supposed to comfort me?" 

She shook her head. "Not really. It's just an observation. But it's another reality you'll have to face. You're going to be a favorite target for those looking to make a name for themselves." 

He regarded her askance. "If you're trying to cheer me up, you're failing miserably." 

She leaned forward and rose on her toes to drop a quick kiss at his jawline, near that lovely cleft in his chin. "But you are feeling better. Aren't you?" 

He managed a small smile. "I guess this comes under the heading of kissing it to make it better." 

She laughed softly. "Whatever it takes." And she tucked his robe around him again, as he continued to shiver, though the night air was not that cool. 

Suddenly, there was a commotion out in the open area of the hanger, as footsteps echoed, followed by a metallic clang and a distinctive oath. 

"Oh, Sithspit!" came the disembodied voice of an extremely irritated female. "That's a ridiculous place to leave a fighter. Blast! that hurts." 

"Can't you be quiet," responded a second voice, younger, male, and edged with what might have been panic. "If he doesn't want to be found, we're bantha fodder." 

"Speak for yourself, Scruffy," came the reply. "I can find him." 

There was patent disbelief in the tone of the response. "How are you gonna find him if he doesn't want you to? He's a Jedi." 

"Right," said the female, "but, first of all, he's a man." 

"What is that supposed to mean?" 

Padmé and Obi-Wan exchanged hurried glances. "Sabé," called the queen abruptly, forestalling any response the handmaiden might have made, "We're over here." 

"Your highness?" the young woman said sharply. "What are you doing here?" 

The queen quickly reached up and whispered in Obi-Wan's ear. "Do us both a favor, and don't tell her I kissed you." 

"I may be stunned and grief-stricken," he replied in kind, "but I'm not crazy." Padmé was enormously gratified to sense a small stirring of liveliness in both his words and his demeanor. 

"Anakin," he called out, "follow my voice into the corridor. Near the laser controls." 

"It's really dark in here," complained the boy, his whine of annoyance almost, but not quite, camouflaging his uneasiness. 

There was another clatter, followed by a thud. "Oh, for crying out loud!" said Sabé, obviously very disgruntled. "Lights!" 

And there was light. Not as much as there would have been had there been no war fought through this building in the past few days, but enough, nevertheless, to reveal the sight of Sabé sprawled amid a welter of scattered cargo containers; Anakin, standing at her side, his face pale, eyes huge and shadowed; and the queen and the Jedi, standing in close proximity, her hand still resting against his chest. 

Sabé's eyebrows arched toward her hairline. "Well, well. This is cozy." 

Anakin, completely unaware of cross currents and undercurrents, tore across the hangar and launched himself into Obi-Wan's arms, not noticing, in his haste, the young Jedi's quick catch of his breath and the way he tried, without notable success, to shield his torso from the brunt of the impact. Obi-Wan found it easier to simply settle back to his knees with the boy, than to try to maintain his still wobbly stance. 

"Hey, Kiddo," the Padawan said gently "what's all this? What's wrong?" 

Anakin's face was buried against Obi-Wan's tunic. "I couldn't find you or Padmé, and I didn't know where to go." 

The young Jedi stroked the boy's back while sending subliminal soothing Force messages to the child. "It's okay, Ani. I'm sorry. You have to give me a little time to adjust. I'm not used to having a child around." _Except for me,_ he thought ruefully. _When did I become the adult here?_

Wordlessly, Anakin nodded, but Obi-Wan felt the warm wetness of tears against his chest. To allow the boy time to compose himself, he simply adjusted his grip and settled himself more comfortably. "We have a lot of uncharted territory to cover, my little friend." 

Anakin mumbled something unintelligible. 

"What? I didn't quite catch that, Ani." 

"'M 'fraid." The syllables were indistinct and muffled, not to mention barely audible. 

Obi-Wan almost replied with a knee-jerk reaction of empty assurance, but caught himself in time. As his eyes met those of queen, he saw her nod slightly, as if she understood and approved his intention. "I know, Ani," he said finally. "Me, too." 

Anakin shifted abruptly and twisted to stare into Obi-Wan's face, skepticism writ large in his eyes. "You're not afraid of anything," he said firmly. 

Obi-Wan managed a wry chuckle. "Don't I wish! Everyone is afraid sometimes." 

"But Master Yoda said that fear can lead to all kinds of terrible things." 

"He did - and it can - if you don't learn how to release it into the Force. But you will learn, when you're trained." 

Fresh tears brimmed in the boy's eyes and welled over onto his cheeks. "But Qui-Gon was the only one who wanted me to be trained. And he's gone." 

Obi-Wan swallowed the lump that swelled in his throat. "Yes, he is. But he made arrangements for you." 

"He did? How? Who? I don't understand." 

Obi-Wan spread his hands wide. "Unless you have some other preference, looks like you're stuck with me." 

"You?" 

By this time, Sabé had managed, not without difficulty, to join their little group. When she had fought to regain her footing - not to mention her composure - she had found, to her chagrin, that the cargo containers scattered around her had not been quite as empty as she would have hoped. The floor around and under her had been coated with a dark, viscous liquid that seemed to have a particular affinity for the golden yellow fabric of her voluminous skirt. 

"Of all the kriffing luck," she had muttered to herself, as she stood. "My one shot at comforting a Jedi in his hour of need, and I wind up wearing a bucket of engine grease." 

At any rate, she had finally arrived at the queen's side, in time to overhear the exchange between the Jedi and the child. She snickered suddenly. "Daddy Obi-Wan. That's going to take some getting used to." 

Anakin was mumbling again. 

"Ani, I can't answer what I don't hear," Obi-Wan said firmly, but with a smile. "Stop mumbling and speak up." 

"What could scare you?" asked the boy. 

The Jedi laid his hand atop the boy's head. "The same as you, probably. The changes life gives us. When you left Tatooine, your whole life shifted to a new center. I know that. Now, my whole life has shifted too. One door closes; another opens, and it's frightening not to know what's beyond that door." 

Anakin nodded, and nestled once more into Obi-Wan's arms. "It'll be okay," he said finally, "if I can just stay with you." 

Unexpectedly, Obi-Wan felt new tears sting his eyes. He found it remarkable that a child who had been so ill-used in his young life should be able to give his trust so easily and so completely. "I can't read the future, Anakin, but I can definitely promise you that much." Which, a tiny voice in his head insisted on pointing out, was not entirely true: sometimes, he _could_ read the future, but he didn't want to get into that now. 

"But what if the Council doesn't agree?" Anakin asked suddenly. Even Qui-Gon had not quite dared to defy the will of the Council completely, and Anakin understood that. 

Obi-Wan's response was firm. "Some things transcend even the discipline of the knighthood. This is one of them." Anakin was not yet old enough to recognize the steely quality of the young Jedi's determination, but both Padmé and Sabé understood immediately that the Jedi Council, should it attempt to interfere with Obi-Wan's relationship with the boy, would find itself sadly overmatched. He had never before directly defied the Council, not even in small ways. But he was prepared to do so now, regardless of the consequences. 

"Oh, Stars and Comets, this is going to be good," said Sabé, with obvious relish. "Kid Kenobi versus the Jedi Juggernaut - and I'm betting on the kid." 

Obi-Wan and Padmé both favored her with a withering glance, which, of course, left her completely unwithered. 

"So," said the Jedi, focusing through the Force on Anakin's presence. The boy literally glowed with latent ability, but there were shadowy patches of weariness and uncertainty within the radiance, "did you eat?" 

Anakin shrugged. "They had lots of fancy stuff." His cheeks reddened. "I didn't know what it all was." 

"So you didn't eat," Obi-Wan concluded, as he rubbed his thumb across a particularly grimy spot on the boy's chin. "Which might be just as well, since this looks like a breeding ground for all manner of nasty bugs." 

"Did you?" asked Anakin suddenly. 

"Did I what?" 

"Eat?" 

Obi-Wan rolled his eyes. "We're talking about you, now. And, for future reference, you can almost always eat the fresh fruit, even when everything else looks like creepy-crawly critters." 

Padmé reached down and took Anakin's hand. "Why don't you come with me, Ani? I know where there's a bath with your name on it, not to mention a huge jar of cookies with a pitcher of milk." 

"How does that sound?" asked Obi-Wan. 

Anakin grinned. "Wizard! I am kind of hungry." 

The boy jumped to his feet and started to walk away with his customary energy, but he stopped abruptly, turning back to Obi-Wan. 

"Aren't you coming?" he asked softly, the shadows moving once more in his eyes. 

"In a minute," replied the Jedi, his hand braced unobtrusively against his side. "I'll be right there." 

Still, Anakin hesitated, and Amidala's glance once more met Obi-Wan's, but there was no inspiration to be found there. "What is it, Ani?" Obi-Wan's voice was gentle. 

"Where will you . . . " 

Obi-Wan waited, but the boy seemed reluctant to continue. But realization came quickly, easily. "Sleep?" said the young Jedi. 

Anakin just nodded, obviously somewhat embarrassed. 

Obi-Wan looked to the queen, who answered his wordless query with a smile. "Leave it to me. I'll see that a suitable suite is prepared for the two of you." 

Anakin relaxed visibly. "Okay! Come on, Padmé. I mean, your highness. I could eat a bantha." 

"Padmé will do fine," laughed the queen. She exchanged a curious sharp look with her primary handmaiden, before hurrying after the boy, who was already halfway across the hangar. 

Obi-Wan, quite deliberately, decided to ignore for the moment the countless questions and uncertainties that rose in his mind as he watched the child's departure. Still, he was wrapped in thought, and thus, totally unprepared for Sabé's sudden assault on his person. Fast and direct, she hit him with a tackle that would have done credit to a professional smashball player. Once she had him down, she managed to roll him over flat on his back and position herself astride him. In his confusion, he failed to notice that she carefully avoided resting her full weight on his chest. His only response was a groan. "Sabé, this is _not_ the time." 

"Oh, get over yourself, Big Ego," she snapped. "This is not about your luscious little body, for once. This is about the huge bone I have to pick with you." He lifted one quizzical, irrepressible eyebrow, but she ignored him. 

"What?" he demanded, allowing himself a tiny stir of annoyance. 

Her eyes were hard. "What was I supposed to be, Kenobi? Your swan song?" 

"What are you raving about?" He forced himself up, and they were virtually nose to nose, glaring at each other. 

"I may not be Jedi," she spat, "but I'm not stupid. Until last night, I scared the kriff out of you, because you thought anything that developed between us might keep you from becoming a knight. So why, all of a sudden, did it not matter any more?" 

"Maybe you were just irresistible," he retorted. 

"Yeah, and maybe Jar Jar will become an expert in quantum theory. How about this? How about you had one of those stinking Jedi visions, and thought you were going to die today? How about that? So it didn't matter if you weren't pure as the driven snow any more, did it? It wouldn't matter if I contaminated your pristine little spirit if you were dead, would it?" 

He had the grace to look ashamed. "I'm sorry, Sabé. I didn't mean it that way." 

She blinked away the first suggestion of tears; she would not let him make her cry. "How do you think I would have felt?" she asked, her voice hollow. 

"I swear to you that wasn't how I meant it. Trust me." 

She scrambled to her feet. "That's how I got into this. How can I?" 

He rose and moved to stand before her. "You could look at it from a different perspective, you know. I did." 

"Such as?" She was patently suspicious. 

He lifted her chin with a gentle hand. "The last wish of a dying man." 

"O-o-o-h," she sighed, "this is just so totally unfair. You just . . . " 

"Just what?" 

"You just cloud my senses," she breathed, as she studied his face, noting the scrapes and bruises, as well as the dark circles under his eyes. "I'm confounded by every breath of you." 

He smiled and bent forward to touch her lips with his own, but, to his great surprise, she sidestepped him. 

"Much as I'd like to pursue this". . .her smile was almost wicked . . ."to its natural conclusion, I don't think the timing is quite right. In fact, I think you need a bacta tank, more than a love nest right now. Have you seen the healers?" 

He shook his head and attempted a Force suggestion with a slight wave of his hand. "I'm okay." 

"Um, hmm," she agreed, then poked him sharply in the chest. 

He winced, and paled abruptly. "Don't do that," he gasped. 

"Why not? You're okay, after all. Except, of course, that there are probably at least a couple of cracked ribs in your chest, plus sundry other little fractures. Not to mention the various burns, lacerations, contusions, etc, etc." 

"Sabé . . ." 

"Hush," she snapped. "Don't be such a macho idiot. You may be a Jedi, but you're not indestructible. What is it with you? Just because Qui-Gon died, you think you have to go too?" 

A bone deep pain gripped him - or rather, regripped him. "Not now, Sabé." 

"Right now," she insisted, grabbing his arm and pulling him toward the exit. 

"Wait," he said sternly. "I need to explain something to you." 

"You don't need . . ." 

"Yes," he interrupted. "I do need." 

She rolled her eyes, crossed her arms, and regarded him with extreme impatience. 

"You said something about not being able to contaminate me if I were dead." His voice was extremely gentle. "That was never the issue. It's not about preserving my so-called purity. It's about not losing my focus." 

Abruptly, he put his arms around her waist, and drew her close. "How could you think you could contaminate me? You're strong and brave and very, very beautiful, and so completely honest that I don't think you'd even know how to tell a lie. You're magnificent, Sabé. You take my breath away." 

The stern visage that she was trying so desperately to maintain dissolved under the impact of his words, and tears filled her eyes. "Oh, damn," she said softly, "I swore I wouldn't let you make me cry. I'm not the one needing comfort here." 

He held her tighter and rocked her gently against him. "After today, we all need some comfort." 

Her face was buried against his chest. "Obi, I'm sorry about Master Qui-Gon." 

He just nodded, not trusting himself to speak. 

She pulled back and peered into his face, tears still trembling on her lashes. "He loved you very much, you know." 

Again, he nodded, his eyes dark with pain. 

"You wanted to go with him," she said slowly, her voice filled with wonder. 

"Not with him," he whispered. "In his place." 

She put her hands on his shoulders and waited until he met her gaze. "Obi-Wan, I've never been through it myself, but I've known people who have. It's really hard to lose a parent, but it's much, much harder to lose a child. If you had managed to trade places with him, as you intended, you must ask yourself what he would have been enduring now. Could he have survived the loss?" 

A small, weary smile touched his lips. "I've been 'lost' before," he said ruefully. "He survived." 

"Lost," she echoed, "but not dead. Even if you were separated forever, he would have known you still existed, somewhere. Right?" 

"I suppose." 

"So, would you want him to go through what you're going through, only worse?" 

He drew a deep, shuddering breath. "No, but I don't think he would have been so . . ." 

"So what?" 

"So empty," he said finally. "He had already found a new focus." 

If she hadn't been completely convinced that he had a couple of broken ribs, she would have shaken him. "Do men take lessons in how to be stupid, or does it just come naturally?" 

In spite of his abject misery, he found himself smiling. "What?" 

She pulled his head down and pressed her forehead against his. "He was distracted, Kenobi. That's all. No way did he replace you in his heart with a kid he'd known for a week. By the gods, are all Jedi so kriffing sensitive?" 

He considered her question seriously, despite its rhetorical nature. "Maybe we are," he said finally. "Through the Force, we sense a lot. Maybe too much." 

"And maybe," she replied, "you need to learn to lighten up just a little. Not everything is about you." 

He dropped a kiss on her forehead and stood up straight. "Okay. Agreed. Now I need to see to Anakin." 

"No," she disagreed, "you need to see to Obi-Wan. Padmé will take care of Anakin. You need to be healed if you're going to be able to take care of him." 

With obvious reluctance, he nodded. "I really hate going to healers," he muttered. 

"There, there, now, pretty Jedi. I'll hold your hand." 

He grimaced sharply, then muttered, "Don't call me pretty." 

* * * * * * * * * * * 

The palace infirmary still bore traces of the pandemonium that had erupted there during the earlier battle, but it was blessedly quiet at this late hour. A listless clerk looked up from a stack of datacards as Sabé led Obi-Wan into the reception area. Wearily, the young Jedi allowed himself to collapse on a wooden bench, laid his head back against the wall, and closed his eyes. 

"We need a healer," said Sabé, noting that the young man's pallor was increasing drastically with every moment. 

The clerk, whose name was Critz'l, had already had a day that would live in infamy, as she regarded the young woman before her with bleary, blood-shot eyes. Sabé's elfin face still bore bruises acquired during the battle, and was now smudged and smeared with the engine oil which still dripped from her gown. 

The clerk picked up a form from a stack on the desk and tossed it toward Sabé. "Fill this out." 

The handmaiden barely glanced at the document, noting that it appeared to be composed entirely of very small print, numerous questions, and several pages. 

"I said, we need a healer. Now." 

This time, the clerk didn't even bother to look up. "You'll have to wait your turn, and fill out the form." 

Sabe took a deep breath, and - barely - held on to her temper. "There's no one else here." 

Critz'l made a point of finishing the entry she was working on, before once more looking up at the handmaiden, distaste plain on her face. "The healer's busy, and you still have to fill out the form." 

Sabé turned to look at Obi-Wan, and found him whiter than the sheet of paper before her and very still. She briefly considered calling for Padmé's intervention, but then decided that she had earned the right to a little personal display of temperament. 

With a grim, but satisfied little smile, she turned back to the clerk. "Now you listen to me, you glorified little pencil pusher. You obviously haven't crawled out from under whatever rock you inhabit often enough to know who you're dealing with. That young man is Jedi Padawan Obi-Wan Kenobi, the hero of the battle of Naboo, and personal friend of Queen Amidala. And I am Sabé Vespa, the queen's primary handmaiden. And you can count on this: if the delay in treating his injuries creates any problem for him of any kind, I will personally take his lightsaber, and carve you a new . . . well, you get the idea, don't you?" 

Critz'l surged to her feet as if jabbed with an electro-pole. She had not recognized Sabé, but the stories told in the palace about the handmaiden had transformed the reputation of her temperament into the stuff of legend. "Of course, Ma'am." 

"Get the healer now." 

"Yes, Ma'am. Right away." 

Sabé turned back and reached out to touch Obi-Wan's cheek, then hastened to grab him as he slumped to the floor. "Hurry," she shouted, as she braced his dead weight. "He's unconscious." 

Obviously terrified of the consequences of her earlier lassitude, Critz'l literally dragged the on-duty healer into the waiting room. The young woman - a Corellian if Sabé wasn't mistaken - lost no time in kneeling at the Jedi's side. 

"What's this?" said Healer Ginala, tossing dark curls off her forehead. Her fingers quickly, but gently explored the contours of Obi-Wan's face. 

Sabé looked puzzled. "Are you Jedi?" 

The healer shook her head, as she touched his padawan braid. "No, but he obviously is, and they sometimes broadcast empathic messages, even when unconscious." She rapidly ran a medi-scanner down the length of his body. 

"By the goddess," she swore softly, "where's he been? This should have been treated hours ago. He's still bleeding internally." 

Sabé just nodded. "Damn, stubborn Jedi," she muttered. 

Ginala took just a moment to look at the unconscious apprentice. "Right, but a damned pretty, stubborn Jedi, hmm?" 

Obi-Wan stirred and mumbled. "Don't call me pretty." 

Ginala and Sabé exchanged smiles, as a medical droid approached with a hover stretcher. "Okay, Ugly," said the healer. "Let's get you to surgery." 

As they settled him on the stretcher, the thoroughly browbeaten clerk approached timidly and looked down at him. The blissful oblivion of unconsciousness had erased the marks of despair from his face, and, despite his extreme pallor, he might have been only sleeping. He looked very young and very vulnerable. Almost against her own volition, she reached out and touched his padawan braid, observing silently that he was almost painfully beautiful. "Is he really?" she asked, in a whisper. 

"Really what?" Sabé was still extremely annoyed with the girl. 

"A hero of the battle of Naboo." 

Sabé reached over and rearranged his braid. "You bet he is. Today he gave more, lost more, and accomplished more than most of us can even imagine." 

Ginala directed the droid to guide the stretcher to the surgical suite, then spoke to the clerk. "Get me a full surgical team, at once. We take no risks with this one. And get Healer Qua-Namor over here immediately. I don't want to have to use anesthesia drugs on a Jedi if I can avoid it. She can keep him under with Force suggestions." 

"How long?" asked Sabé. She regarded the healer with shadowed eyes. "The queen will want to know." 

Ginala smiled. "The queen, huh? Okay. I won't know for sure until I get in there, but probably no more than an hour. I just need to stop the bleeding, and get a bone-knitter on him. Shouldn't take long." 

Sabé nodded. "Just . . . " 

Ginala reached out and patted the girl's hand. "Don't worry," she said softly. "He'll be fine. I'm very good at what I do. And I'll even make sure he comes out just as pretty as when he went in." 

Sabé laughed softly. "I think he really hates healers, and don't call him pretty." 

* * * * * * * * * * * * * 

 

The infirmary, which had been virtually deserted earlier, was crowded now. Critz'l, the clerk, was in a perpetual state of near panic, as she watched the queen of Naboo, her chief handmaiden, looking every inch her customary regal self in fresh clothing delivered by a senior court page; the dark, dignified chief of security, and one small, mop-headed boy try to pace the narrow confines of the waiting room without running over each other. In addition, seated around the room's perimeter, were four additional handmaidens, three gungans, two Nubian pilots, and one planetary governor, not to mention one astromech droid that rolled along behind the boy, beeping periodically. If the clerk had had any lingering doubt about the prominence of the young man now in surgery, she had it no longer. 

"The Jedi Council?" Amidala asked suddenly, in midstride. 

"Advised," replied Panaka, "and on their way." 

The queen stopped suddenly, and stared at Anakin, who continued his pacing, unaware of her scrutiny. 

"What?" said Panaka, pausing beside her. 

She spoke softly. "What if they won't allow him to train Anakin? They refused Qui-Gon. What if they refuse Obi-Wan?" 

Panaka turned to look at the boy. "If he promised his Master he would train the boy, then he will. And the Council can either agree, or take a flying leap." 

She nodded. "But at what cost, Captain? Think of it. He's spent his entire life preparing to be a Jedi. What will he do if they cut him off?" 

His caught and held her eyes with the steely resolve in his own. "Then he comes to us. He'll always have a place here. Won't he?" 

She reached out and grasped his hand. "As long as I have breath in my body," she answered. 

"And I," he responded. 

"Mesa, also," came a muted rumble, as Boss Nass, ruler of the gungans, stood up to join them. 

When Healer Ginala emerged from an inner room, everyone froze, except for one small boy, who accosted her before she was fully into the room. 

"Where is he? Can I see him? Is he OK?" 

"Whoa there, Little One," she said with a smile, kneeling to get down to his level. She directed a respectful smile at the queen, as she addressed the child. "It seems our Jedi has quite an entourage, hmm? Anyway, he's just fine. Though I must tell you he's as stubborn as a wookiee with a life debt. He refuses to go into a bacta tank." 

"But he's okay?" said the boy. 

She nodded. "And you must be Anakin. He's asking for you." 

"But if he needs bacta . . ." 

"A dip in a tank would help him heal faster, but he'll still heal without it. He's a Jedi, after all, so he can heal himself a lot better than any of us could. But he refuses to even initiate the healing trance until he's sure you're all right." 

The child turned to look at the queen, and her smile was tender as she noted the gleam of tears in his eyes. "He's hurt, but he's worried about me." 

She knelt and hugged the boy briefly. "Very special is our Obi-Wan," she said softly. "Maybe you should go in and reassure him that you're okay, so he can get on with his healing." 

But Obi-Wan was not the only human male with more than his share of stubbornness, and Anakin stiffened abruptly. "I need to be with him," he said firmly. "To stay with him." 

"Ani," Amidala began. 

"No," he said sharply. "He needs me, and I need him. I'll just sit by his bed, and I won't bother him. But I've got to be there with him." 

Healer Ginala was frowning and started to voice her objections, but the queen forestalled her. 

Amidala smiled. "How can I refuse anything to either of my two heroes?" 

* * * * * * * * * * * 

Obi-Wan was floating in a Force-induced euphoria. He was basically between realities in this state, aware of his surroundings but also aware of the healing process going on within him. There was no physical pain, beyond a vague suspicion that waking fully would bring with it a measure of discomfort. And, for the moment, his emotional anguish was somewhat blunted; still with him, but slightly less immediate; slightly remote. And, of course, given his history, he understood immediately what it all meant. 

"Son of a Sith," he muttered to himself. "The healers got me." 

Well, maybe not completely to himself. "Indeed I did, Young Kenobi," said a soft, feminine voice into his right ear, "and, since it's painfully, blatantly obvious that I'm not the first healer to 'get' you, you surely know the drill. Resist, and it takes twice as long." 

With a sigh, he managed a nod. "But no bacta." He opened one eye, and peered at the woman who stood by his bed. Though her voice had sounded firm and youthful, she appeared to be quite elderly, her face riddled with fine lines, and her hair, a silvery blue. But as she ran a scanner over his body, he noted the vestigial antennae that marked the side of her head, and the slight coral cast of her skin which identified her as a Blevian, so she might have been any age, from twenty to two hundred. 

"Very well," she agreed. "I've already been told you refused bacta. My name is Qua-Namur, and I'm Force trained, Padawan. So, if you continue to refuse bacta, just make sure that your Master limits your lightsaber practice until you're completely healed." 

As his face crumpled, she felt the surge of emotion flood her mind. "Oh, Child. By the gods, I'm sorry. I never, never delve into private thoughts when I practice my healing so I didn't know. Can I do anything to help you?" 

"No," he whispered, "but thank you. You've already helped me tremendously." 

She smoothed his hair and laid her palm against his forehead. Gratefully, he accepted the healing energy she poured into him. "Rest now, pretty child," she breathed. 

But he roused himself from his drowsiness. "Need to see Anakin," he insisted. 

She favored him with a resigned smile, realizing that he would not give in until his request had been granted, and left the room to fetch the child. 

"And don't call me pretty." 

* * * * * * 

Healers Ginala and Qua-Namue stood at the foot of his bed, motionless as marble statues, and just as immovable. Around the bed were gathered the queen (they hadn't quite dared impede her access), Captain Panaka (the same), Sabé, who would have joyfully made good on her lightsabre threats had anyone tried to bar her from the bedside, and young Skywalker, whose face had once more taken on that bruised vulnerability that touched Obi-Wan's heart. Consequently, the boy, much to the displeasure of the healers, was perched on the side of the bed, both hands wrapped around the young Jedi's arm. 

"Sorry, Ani," said the padawan softly. "I guess we won't be staying in the palace tonight." 

Anakin just nodded. "It's okay. I just want you to be all right." 

Obi-Wan reached out and touched the boy's face gently, turning it from side to side. "You look better. Smell better, too." 

Anakin grinned and touched the bacta bandage on Obi-Wan's chest. "You, too." 

The grin disappeared as the young knight shivered abruptly, and his pallor increased dramatically. "You're cold," said the boy, and he pulled extra blankets up to Obi-Wan's throat. 

"Just a chill," replied Obi-Wan, trying, without notable success, to still his trembling. 

The two healers exchanged worried glances. "It is not just a chill," said Ginala, "and you have put off your healing for long enough. It's time for everybody to leave us to do our job, to make you well." 

But both Anakin and Sabé had different ideas, and both appeared to have the support of the queen. "It won't do any harm for us to be with him," Sabé said firmly. "In fact, we can keep him warmer than any blanket would." 

She and Anakin exchanged smiles, as Sabé climbed up onto the bed, positioned herself against the headboard, and wrapped her arms around Obi-Wan protectively. At the same time, Anakin carefully moved until his warm young body was wedged against Obi-Wan's side, and gently laid his head on the padawan's shoulder. Both then turned defiant eyes to the healers. 

Unexpectedly, Ginala and Qua-Namur chuckled. "Well," said the former, "it's not exactly standard procedure, but it should certainly keep him warm. And you must both understand that, in the event of medical need, you would have to get out of the way in a hurry!" 

The two determined nursemaids nodded vigorously, and Obi-Wan allowed himself to settle into the warmth of their presence, while the Blevian healer touched his consciousness with a tender breath of approval. 

The queen dropped a gentle kiss on Obi-Wan's forehead, and touched his cheek softly. "Good night, my hero," she whispered, with a smile. "Heal well." 

When everyone had departed, and the healers, after one more check of his vital signs, had dimmed the lights and left to see to other patients, Obi-Wan lay in the warmth and comfort of the arms of the two who remained with him. His hand absently stroked Anakin's hair as the boy drifted into dreamless sleep, completely undisturbed by his somewhat haphazard posture on the hospital bed. Sabé was not sleeping, but she was completely relaxed, her heartbeat providing a soothing rhythm against his ear. 

He closed his eyes and reached for the healing trance that he knew he needed, and drifted down toward the warm oblivion of sleep. 

_I miss you, Master_. It was his last conscious thought before the trance took him. Thus he was not aware of the sweet, tender eddy that swelled in the Force, and reached out to caress him with gentle fingers. 

_Sleep, my Padawan. I am here_. 

Obi-Wan didn't really hear it - not with his waking mind - but a gentle smile touched his lips as he rested in the warm embrace of loving arms. 

FINIS


End file.
